


The Potion

by misshoneywell



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, darkish, promptsinpanem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misshoneywell/pseuds/misshoneywell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Katniss convinces President Snow and is given a gift in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Potion

_Was it enough?”_  she begged with her eyes, frantic desperation and pulsing fear hidden behind a smile so bright and false that her jaw fairly cracked with the strain of it. 

 

It was a smile full of burdens and sacrifice and everything Snow demanded of her. 

 

She could have wept with relief at the almost imperceptible nod of his head, the puffy, bee stung lips curving at the ends like scorpion tails, a creature that had made Peeta shiver when Haymitch crushed one under the heel of his boot after the Tour stopped for fuel at the edge of District Two. 

 

She almost missed the inclination of Snow’s chin, gesturing towards the fleet-footed Avox that had appeared at her elbow, head bowed and a tray lifted forward in a silent offering.

 

The confusion that swept over her cleared when he tipped his own glass towards her, a subtle toast to her achievement.  _You convinced me_ , he broadcasted as he sipped from his own delicate goblet. _Now drink._

 

She lifted the single gold stemmed glass from the sterling silver tray, barely noticing as the Avox swiftly disappeared, the golden bubbles of the liquid tickling her nose as she threw her head back to swallow crisp mouthfuls.

 

It was bitter, with a faint taste of cinnamon and something else. It burned her throat the whole way down, but it tasted like freedom.

 

It tasted like her family was safe. Gale was safe.  _Peeta was safe_.

 

She felt a warm hand on her back and leaned into the touch that had become as familiar to her as the wind rustling through the oak trees in her forest.

 

“Is everything okay?” Peeta murmured into her neck, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She turned in his embrace and breathed in his scent, a warm, spice-infused gust of pheromones that not even the most potent of Capitol colognes could change. 

 

“Better than okay,” she said into his ear, suddenly fascinated with the curling, golden tendrils at the nape of his neck. “We did it. We’re going home. We’re going to be okay.”

 

He pulled back and smiled at her, sadness and relief written on his face. She felt a pang at how tired he looked, at the pale violet shadows under his eyes, and all the sleep that he wasn’t getting at her expense.

 

“We pulled it off, then?” he asked, brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. 

 

She caught his hand as he pulled back, turning it over and kissing the center of his palm. 

 

“Too much,” he said, looking at her painfully. 

 

 ”Don’t say it like that.” 

 

“It will never really be over, Katniss,” he reminded her, swallowing.

 

“That’s okay,” she whispered, leaning forward and brushing her lips to his. He inhaled her, and spoke quietly into her mouth, an expert at their special brand of intimate conversation. 

 

“If I thought you really meant that,” he breathed into her lungs, nipping at her lips and punishing her with his perfect white teeth, a good kind of hurt. 

 

“I might,” she said, pressing her forehead to his, feeling a swift hunger that even the most tempting of Capitol delicacies could not satiate.

 

The tittering and scattered applause of staring revelers pulled him away from her, and she felt the loss keenly as he took his warmth with him. His face hardened as he looked towards the calculated approval of President Snow staring back at them, who lifted his glass towards Peeta.

 

“You’re getting so good at this, Katniss,” he said hollowly, pulling the gold stemmed glass from her hand and swallowing the little remains of her drink. “Cheers.”

 

He pulled a face as it went down, and muttered something about pine needles and wood smoke.

 

She clutched at his shoulder, but he was immoveable as stone in his hurt. “Peeta,” she said, suddenly  feeling clumsy and flustered.

 

“Time to go!” trilled Effie, appearing in front of them suddenly. “Must stick to our busy, busy schedule!”

 

“Don’t we have to say goodbye to President Snow? It’s his house after all,” Peeta said woodenly, not looking at Katniss.

 

“No, I’ve already made arrangement for the gifts and thank you card,” she said with cheerful impatience, and they filed behind her like dutiful children.

 

Katniss grabbed Peeta’s hand steadfastly, refusing to let go even as he resisted slightly, clutching at his slackened fingers as if he were a lifeline as they weaved in and out of the Capitol party goers. 

 

He shot her a look of exhausted defeat as she rubbed his thumb back and forth dreamily, but made no move to stop her, sighing and pulling her close into his side as the revelers knocked into them.

 

When she stumbled while boarding the train, he caught her by the hips to steady her, and the hard tug of heat that sparked in her belly caught her off-guard. Peeta went rigid as she leaned back into him. “Stop,” he said into her hair. “Stop. No one is looking.”

 

She swallowed her unhappiness and moved forward, his hand on her lower back pushing her insistently through the train, where Haymitch and the stylists were already waiting for them.

 

They sat in a circle, sipping tea and listening with glazed, lidded eyes as Effie chattered on about their arrival plans in District 12, and no one argued when Katniss suggested they all go to bed.

 

She followed Peeta closely down the hall, making a small noise in her throat as he turned to head towards his own room.

 

She grasped at the back of his shirt, but he did not turn around, resolutely pulling away from her instead.

 

“Peeta, wait,” she begged, hardly recognizing the throaty girl that was sounding out such desperate words.

 

“Go to bed,” he said into the hallway, but did not move forward.

 

“Come with me,” she pressed her face into his back and clutched at his sides, her cheeks flushed and her tongue thick in her mouth.

 

He stiffened and pulled out of her grasp. “You’re cruel, Katniss.”

 

She stared down the hallway and watched as he disappeared into his room, an ache in her heart and between her legs that both frightened and confused her.

 

Lying in her bed, alone, hot, her heart pounding into her throat, she reached down and her fingers found a place. She grunted in frustration and threw her head back against the pillow, and stared at the empty spot beside her on the bed.

 

Her eyes shuttering closed, she prayed that she dreamt of peace, of home, and of dandelions.

 

Instead, she got the mockingjays, and Rue, flittering through the forest and leading her into a cave, where a boy with golden curls is pressing her down into a sleeping bag and curing her with a warm mouth, and insistent fingers are in her hair and between her legs and everything was so—

 

Her eyes shot open, the dull ache she went to sleep with now a raging inferno, her skin sweat soaked and pressing against an equally warm body.  _“_ Go back to sleep,” Peeta said, smoothing her loose, damp hair with a hand that trembled slightly.

 

“You came to me,” she rasped, her voice coated in sleep.

 

“Needed you,” he muttered.

 

“Was it a bad dream?” She turned and spoke to his lips, unable to look away from the smooth perfection of them. “You should have woken me up.”

 

“My nightmares are usually about losing you. I’m okay when I realize you’re here,” he faltered and closed his eyes when her small hand found his cheek. “So this one was my fault,” he finished quietly, an apology in his voice.

 

“Don’t be sorry.” She nuzzled his throat, distracted. “Nothing is your fault, ever _.”_

_“_ Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” he said with a groan, his hands winding through her hair and stilling her movements.

 

She looked up at him, her eyes hooded and sparking. “I don’t want to sleep alone again.”

 

He stared down into her winter grey irises, his pupils dilated. “What does that even mean, Katniss?”

 

“I don’t know,” she whispered, straining forward to kiss his jaw, suddenly not able to stand the separation, the distance a moment longer. His fingers in her hair kept her painfully at bay. “I don’t know, but I need you, and I’ll miss you in my bed, and _please Peeta_. Don’t turn me away.”

 

She licked her lips, leaning forward again. The pull of her hair felt good.

 

She felt  _good._

 

She felt  _so_  good.

 

“You’re killing me,” he said, his grip in her tresses finally slackening, allowing her to attack his neck, his lips, his cheeks with fervor.

 

“We’re no good apart,” she countered throatily, the insistent tug that was low in her abdomen coupled with the hazy lust inside her skull driving her forward, her fingers tangled in the drawstring of his pajama bottoms. “Can’t make it alone, Peeta.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” he asked as she pressed him into the bed.

 

“You want me?” he asked as she pulled of his shirt.

 

“Katniss…” he whispered as she slipped out of her nightdress.

 

“I want you,” she said, throwing her head back as his hands did the things that her own fingers had failed to do. “Oh,” she sighed at his lips on her breasts, his mouth on her navel, his curly, golden head between her legs. It was the dream again, only it wasn’t a dream, and there was no cave, but she was still on fire, her skin was on fire and her heart was in her throat and everything  _felt so good_.

 

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he groaned into her mouth as he finally pushed into her. “I can’t fight you. I can’t say no,” he said, thrusting forward with one strong movement, his pupils fat and intense, his irises barely visible as he stared down at her.

 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she begged, yanking him down for a kiss that was more war than love, all teeth and tongue and whimpers and everything was on  _fire_. He was thrusting into her and nothing hurt and shouldn’t it hurt? Her gasp caught in her throat as he nipped at her throat. Should it be this good? Nothing made sense and she didn’t care, she was the girl on  _fire_.

 

Their rhythm was out of sync, and it was clumsy and desperate and his fingers were ripping messily through her hair. They were a sweaty, tangled mass and he wasn’t stopping, and she felt like she was burning from the inside and it was a goddamn  _invasion_ and _ohhh—_

 

“Katniss,” he said in a strangled warning.

 

They burned together into the night.

 

He took her four more times.

 

 —————————————————-

 

Katniss opened one slitted eye, her mouth impossibly dry and her head pounding. She flicked her tongue over chapped lips and groaned slightly as she attempted to move. She hurt  _everywhere._

 

She blinked and slowly attempted to sit up, but a heavy arm slung across her bare chest restricted her movements. She wiped a hand over her damp forehead, and looked over in bewilderment.

 

 _Peeta_.

 

 _Last night_.

 

 _Was it a dream?_  she wondered drowsily, looking down at her body. No. They were both naked.

 

There was a soft but insistent knock on the door, and her eyes snapped forward. She looked down at Peeta, and her lack of clothes, and the situation was suddenly so dreadful and confusing and none of it made any _sense_.

 

The knocking continued, and Katniss gingerly worked her way from under Peeta’s arm, wincing a little from her aching muscles. He made a sleepy murmur of protest, but did not stir. She smoothed his hair, feeling a fierce pang of protectiveness for him.

 

She remembered. She had done this. He hadn’t wanted it, and she had pushed so hard, had forced his hand so  _hard_. Why had she done that? Was it the dream? But no, she had felt so  _strangely_ , even before the dream.

 

She wrapped herself in a sheet that had been kicked to the floor, and then flushed as she remembered exactly how that happened, the hazy cloud coating her memory slowly clearing as she remembered Peeta’s head between her legs.

 

She stumbled over to the door and hesitated before opening it, dreading talks of propriety and manners from Effie Trinket, or drunken leers from their mentor.

 

Instead, it was an Avox, head bowed and a tray lifted forward in a silent offering.

 

She lifted the slim, onyx case from the sterling silver tray, barely noticing as the Avox swiftly disappeared as she gingerly clicked open the box.

 

She was rigid as she peered inside, half expecting the case to be rigged with explosives, a final deadly snare from the President.

 

Instead, six thin Capitol-made vials full of golden liquid were burrowed inside the velvet casing, a familiar gold stemmed glass nestled beside them.

 

She remembered the bitter, bubbling taste of a liquid infused with something like dill and cinnamon crawling down her throat. Her heart pounded in her chest as she picked up a crisp square of paper that was tucked beside the vials, reading the imperiously scrawled inscription with dawning realization.  

 

 _To a long and_   _fruitful engagement._

_Have a drink on me._

_-C. Snow_

The paper fluttered to the ground.

 

Peeta could never know.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for promptsinpanem on Tumblr.


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